Sitting on the couch, the bald man scratched his exposed belly that protruded from his stained tank top as he sat with snacks littered around him and a radio playing sultry jazz music.
"People aren't treating themselves right," he sang, his voice severely out of tempo and rhythm with the song. "But they can't go to hell."
He continued until—
FWOOOM—the sound of something landing shook him out of his lightly drunken stupor, metaphorically and literally, as he felt his house shake a bit before settling.
"What was that?" he said as he turned around, planting his knees in the couch as he took off his shades, revealing two pure white eyes lacking pupils that stared in the direction of the sound, which happened to be the front yard.
But when he looked in that direction, he saw two glowing energies, one green and the other a dark purple that looked to be fading.
But the one that sent a shiver down his spine while also simultaneously sending a jolt of lightning up his back was the one in the middle. He was—well, he couldn't describe it; it was almost as if he wasn't there but, at the same time, couldn't be more present.
But before he could really sink further into his thoughts, there was a knock at the door that he could only guess was made by the one with that mysterious energy.
Getting off the couch, he stumbled as he crept to the door, his underwear hanging low on his butt as he did. Moving forward, driven by a morbid curiosity that his scientific mind couldn't shake.
Reaching for the door handle, he almost forgot to say the words he would usually call out before even getting up to get it.
"Who is it?" he stammered cautiously as his hand shook on the handle from either terror or excitement he couldn't quite tell.
"It's Riven Cross. Open up, old man; I need your help," the voice answered with no inflection to it.
Confusion washing over his face, he lowered his shades once more to check if he had seen it wrong, but no, that flickering presence was still just on the other side of the door.
That's not him, but I don't know what that is or why it is claiming to be that brat.
"You know it's illegal to use someone else's identity, much less a Royal's; you can be put to death or in an internment camp for such an action," he stated warily.
"Just open the door, you belly-fat, balding bastard. I have people dying out here."
Instantly upon hearing the insult, his door flew wide open. No matter what was behind this door—man, elf, spirit, devil, or god—he would not stand for such an insult.
But as the door flew open, he was met with a gray-haired boy with eyes of clouds and skin as pale as the dead.
"Knew that would get you to open the door," the boy spoke in an almost dull voice.
"Who are you?!" he asked, his anger clouding his thoughts. "And what right do you have to be speaking to the Royal physician for the house of Crux like that?"
"You got those special eyes, old man. Tell me who I am, but look deep."
Narrowing his eyes, he decided to indulge the stranger, taking off his shades this time as he looked at the being in front of him. Only to again be greeted with that flickering aura, but this time he lingered longer as it flashed in and out of view for him until his eyes reached it, the aura's core.
And then he saw it; as it flickered away, just for a second, he saw that unmistakable brilliant golden light that could only come from one person.
"Brat," he muttered in a mix of shock and realization. Ever since he first met Riven, he had always shone that pure golden light; while others were a myriad of colors that stretched to infinity, his was always the most remarkable aside—from one other one.
"You always used to say that color was too pretty for a person like me." Riven said in an almost bored tone.
"What happened to you?" he stammered.
"Later," he said shortly.
"First," He continued as he waved his hand, and the two energies the doctor saw before moved. "I need you to heal these two. They got hurt pretty seriously. One has rebar going into his back and out his stomach along with third-degree burns that are bordering on fourth, and the other has damage to her spine and is probably bleeding out from an artery."
"If you can't save the man, it's fine, but I need you to save Detective Lance," he said as his eyes lingered on Gabbie's pod.
Looking at him in confusion, the doctor glanced at the critical energies again before turning back to Riven. "But they're commoners."
"Doesn't matter; just save them."
Riven's shocking words nearly prompted him to ask another question, but he stopped when he noticed both of their energies dimming by the second.
"Come in; help me take them downstairs to my laboratory."
"Right," Riven said as he entered the home, the two cocoons in tow. Moving through the small house rather quickly, they went down into the basement. They reached a huge, high-tech-looking metal door that looked like it had no place in the timely home upstairs.
Pressing his bare hand on the center of the door, it shimmered red before a female robotic voice spoke.
"Greetings, Doctor, the world's greatest scientist and highest-ranked physician with the thickest, meatiest footlong in your pants."
Embarrassed, the doctor turned around slowly and slowly said, "Um, I was drunk."
Staring at him blankly, Riven replied, "Of course."
Door opening, they were greeted with a large laboratory filled with all sorts of things. 'Things' Riven both recognized and didn't—inventions that were done and others that didn't even look functional, medical equipment that looked modern and some that looked like it came straight out of a medieval plague doctor's bag—and the whole room was lit up with white fluorescent lights that covered every square inch of the place. Which was about a quarter of an acre in size.
"Lay them down over there," he requested, pointing to a section that was lined up with hospital beds. Laying the detective and Gabbie both down on their sides, he slowly dissipated the cocoons but kept his smoke seal on Gabbie's wound.
Looking her over, her eyes barely cracked open, Riven asked. "Ms. Lance, are you still with us?"
Looking up at him, her vision all but gone now, and her hearing faint in one ear.
"Yes," her voice heavily slurred because of the numbness of her tongue.
"Good," Riven replied as he was about to turn away, only for her to reach out and stop him.
Gripping his arm with the meek strength she had left, she said one thing: "Save him."
Gazing down at her, he gently removed her hand before putting it back on the bed.
"He'll do his best," he answered coldly as he walked off to the doctor.
"Old man, what are their chances?" he asked.
"I haven't gotten a good look at their condition yet; I wouldn't know," the doctor replied, brushing off the question as he got suited up in his gear.
"Don't toy with me, old man. I know you could tell as soon as we walked in the door," Riven said, briefly showing a trace of anger as his hand grabbed the man's lab coat.
Looking at him, he wanted to say 'brat,' but the name didn't feel right anymore; the person behind him didn't feel like a kid. He felt much older, as if he'd seen the universe end and be reborn; it was almost... godlike.
Taking a gulp for a reason he didn't quite know, he started to speak.
"Well, to tell the truth, their condition is quite dire. Even if some of the best physicians in the world were here, the likelihood they'd survive, let alone make a full recovery like I assume you desire, is almost zero."
This made Riven sigh with a reflexive annoyance as he waited for what was coming next.
"But lucky for you, I am the greatest physician in the world," the doctor said with a wide manic smile.